Carpe Diem
by halinar
Summary: [Multichapter Incomplete] We all have to make sacrifices as a CSI. We sacrifice our time and sometimes we have to sacrifice our sanity. These sacrifices are about to become apparent to Greg in a dangerous situation.
1. In Medias Res

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. I have no money anyway.

Notes/Warnings: I hope you enjoy the story, I've really had a great time writing this multi chaptered fic over the time now. But it does get a bit dark and a bit upsetting at some points so if depressing and slightly shocking material is not your thing...best back off now. It's also a tiny bit complicated.

Live for the Day

By Halina Renata

**Chapter 1: In Medias Res**

October in Vegas was unbearable. The late afternoon sun still shone without mercy against a sky of cloudless pure blue as Nick got out of his Tahoe and looked around the practically empty suburban area. He looked behind him for a second, now an instinctual habit of his wherever he went in the open. Nick had realized now that his life was run by Murphy's Law. Whatever can go wrong will go wrong and anything from a broken down Tahoe to stalking to being buried alive in a box for a night had made him realized that.

Taking off his sunglasses he walked inside the apartment complex and up the stairs. A couple of students, hung over from last night's obvious partying sat on the stairwell, trying to be coherent. From somewhere else, muffled head banging music was heard. But it wasn't coming from behind Greg's door, Nick realized as he knocked on it and stealing a breath for the job he had come down to do.

After a long moment, he heard, "Go away."

"Hey, G, it's Nick," he said as gently but colloquially as he could. "Open the door, _now_." He had to admit, he hadn't been round to Greg's apartment often. There was no need to. Greg came to his. Only now the tables had turned and although Nick was still mentally recuperating from his own horrors of being buried alive, Greg was now the one with immediate problem and so he found himself outside his door.

Without an answer, Nick heard the latch of the door being undone and the door opened a bit revealing a tired looking Greg. Quickly taking in what he could see, Nick evaluated the situation. Greg's appearance had shocked him several times. The day he'd met the lab tech with wild shirt, rocked hair and all; his first visit to him in hospital when he'd been blown through a wall of glass; even the more recent toned down clothes and more sensible haircut surprised him when they had bumped into each other in the corridor of the lab. Now, however, Greg looked a whole lot of different. His hair was unnaturally wild as if he'd spent a fortnight in a jungle without toiletries. A pair of baggy jeans and a surprising long jumper practically covering his hands hid most of his frame. It evidently projected someone locking themselves away in their house.

Then, of course, there were the external and unnatural things Nick noticed. Like the darkness of Greg's house indicating the drawn curtains. An almost faded bruise marred Greg's upper right cheekbone with various cuts that Nick assumed must have been there beneath the clothes, given what he'd heard about the incident and the small glimpse he'd seen of him when he was taken out of the house.

"Hey," he said gently, almost expecting Greg to jump at the slightest sound. "Can I come in?"

"Grissom send you on 'check up on Greg' duty?"

"Grissom wouldn't have needed to send me. 'Checking up on Greg' should be generally a friend's duty. Now can I come in or do we talk with all the pissed students around here and the disco upstairs?"

Biting his lip, Greg nodded and stepped back, allowing him into the house. As soon as the Texan was inside, he shut the door and locked it again.

"Sorry. Do you—err—want anything to drink. Haven't really been out grocery shopping but I'm sure I can find something that isn't flat...or foul smelling. Everything here's probably fermented and turned to alcohol anyway."

Nick smiled grimly at the poor copy of Greg's former humour. He looked around the house, noticing he hadn't bothered to clean up. A pizza takeaway was left discarded along with a few bottles of beer. It reminded him of his own lifestyle whenever he felt like hiding away in his home. "I'm all right. I'm more concerned about you."

Greg shrugged apathetically, looking around the room, not wanting to have to see Nick's sympathy. "You shouldn't have done. I'm fine. I'm good, yeah."

If there was ever blatant lying, Nick just heard it now. Given Greg's jittery actions just standing in the corridor—fingers playing with the cuffs of his sleeves, running hands through his messed hair—Nick gathered Greg was not yet fine.

"You don't need to cover it up, man, I can see it."

"See what?" Greg asked tiredly, as if the notion had been told to him a hundred times. "I'm not in the mood for mind games so if you could cut to the chase I'd be grateful because I'm fed up of people 'seeing things' in me."

"You're not yourself, Greg. This isn't you. You're not fine and you're not holding it together."

"Well excuse me, I didn't see you with a firm grip on yourself a few days after you were taken out of that coffin," Greg snapped back sarcastically and immediately bit his tongue when he saw the expression across his friend's face. Sighing, Greg turned around and put a hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I'm just..."

Nick nodded. "I know. I wish you'd open a little more, that's all."

Greg sighed with frustration and walked into his living room, which seemed to resemble a student's pit. Magazines splattered about and dinners left on various surfaces. "Well, what do you _want_ me to say," he answered, his voice quavering slightly as he sat down on the couch and pulling one of his knees up in a protective stance. He knew he couldn't have kept the act up in front of Nick. The Texan had a sixth sense when it came to dealing with people. "That—that I'm such a wuss for still feeling so scared about what happened in there? That I'm too scared to go back to work in case I have to do field work again? Hardly the attitude I'm supposed to present to Grissom."

"Forget Grissom for the moment," Nick retorted. "Right now it's not about how you seem, it's about how you really are and you don't need to present yourself properly to Grissom at the moment so quit pretending. He doesn't care about that. He's crap at saying this but I speak for everyone, including him, when I say we're worried about you."

Nick stopped after the silence that followed and walked to sit in the recliner opposite him. He watched Greg studying the ground ahead of him intently, his hands quivering slightly as they held each other and eyes watered from the fear and lack of sleep. Leaning forward on the edge of the recliner, Nick clasped his hands in front of him and lowered his head. "Greg...you know, it's all right to be scared in this business sometimes. What we see every day would render some people terrified for the rest of their lives. However, it stays with us forever and we learn to deal. And you have been dealing. But on those rare cases where a CSI's life has been in danger, it's all right to be terrified. It's just...human."

Greg blinked rapidly and ran a hand through his hair, the now long strands falling limply by his face again. "How do you _do _this, Nick? After all the shit you've been through how can you still come out so strong and be here trying to make me feel better." Taking a shaky breath, he ran his hand across his eyes quickly.

Nick gave a sad smile of pity but of melancholy. He supposed, out of all of them, he was the voice of experience on how to cope when cases really do affect you personally. He'd almost lost his job and his life—twice with that one—but had managed to keep his sanity together, for what it was worth.

"Takes practise, I guess. But that doesn't mean it hasn't affected me in a long term way," he informed gently. "There are emotional scars to being a CSI. But you get through it by talking. You're good at that."

Greg let out a bitter laugh, a sound so alien to Nick, one he hoped he would never have to adjust to. "Never had to talk to a departmental shrink, though."

"There's a first time for everything, Greggo. You haven't even tried once." He tried to make Greg look at him but the younger CSI turned his head away and focused on something else. "It is a way of helping...I've used it. But you have to tell someone, you can't keep it bottled up. I don't know what went on in there, Greg, I arrived late at the scene. But you know, you can talk to me if you want. You haven't told _anyone_ what really happened in that house."

Greg shook his head forcefully. "I just don't want to talk about it, Nick. Drop it."

Nick let out a sigh, one of defeat. He could sit there as Greg stared into space for hours but gain no progress. For four days now, he had been cooped up in his house, and left alone with only thoughts for company and Nick wondered what was going through his mind right now. He had always really wondered—Greg was strange in personality, eccentric but with the ability to draw any stranger in. Right now he'd much rather have the old Greg back than the more reserved and serious copy he'd evolved into this last year. Now he was a dilution of his former self; lost his innocence once he went out into the real world and now that he'd been a victim, even more so.

The one person who had seen every cloud with a silver lining had turned it into one of dark grey.

"Come on, Grissom wants to see you."

"I thought I was on medical leave," Greg murmured, flopping his head to the side but making no effort to get up.

"Well...you look like you could use some sunshine pale as you are; this is unhealthy. Get up, have a shower and get dressed. I'll take you to the lab." He stood up and looked down at Greg and feeling like a spoilt child, he rolled his eyes and dragged himself off the sofa to his bedroom.

Greg tapped his fingers nervously against the arm of the chair as he sat in front of Grissom's desk. There was always a sense of apprehension when he was called in. Many times he'd wondered whether he'd been fired or about to be banished back to the lab when he came in. At the moment, that seemed like a good idea. Greg remembered times he used to be able to joke mildly with Grissom along with try impress him. Neither really worked but he still continued. Now, he didn't care how his image or attitude came across. He figured that unless someone was an enemy of Grissom or had known him for over a decade, they were liable to be nervous.

"Nick says you don't want to talk to a psychiatrist," Grissom started.

Blunt, Greg thought. But that was Grissom, straight to the point. Somewhere Greg was certain that Grissom was concerned about him but his boss always had an inability to deal with intimacy. He was the opposite of Nick or Catherine. "Not particularly, no."

"I recommend it but I'm not going to force you," Grissom continued lightly, taking off his glasses and taking a good long look at Greg, not trying to avoid it by having paperwork in front of him. Grissom knew he was unable to deal with human emotion, but he was a good observer and a good analyst therefore just by just looking at the young CSI, it was evident Greg wasn't coping and didn't know how to cope with what was going on and in the back of his mind, Grissom mentally kicked himself for not talking to Greg properly about what the horrors of a CSI entailed, let alone all the dangers. Given his fondness of the young man, despite his harsh personality towards him, he'd hoped his enthusiastic, bouncing attitude would have been enough to protect him and help him to deal with the situations.

It seemed not in this extreme circumstance.

"Greg," he said and the young man looked up from where he had been staring at his hands, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to disappear. For Grissom to give up and dismiss him. "I want to tell you I'm sorry."

A flicker of surprise appeared in Greg's eyes. "It's not your fault..."

"It is," Grissom replied sternly. "I let you go into a crime scene that I hadn't entered at all and which I wasn't completely sure was clear and safe. In doing so I risked your life because it wasn't. And I want to apologize and let you know if there's anything you need you can ask me for it."

Greg looked away. "You don't need to wash away any guilt. I don't need help."

"Greg, stop making out that you can handle this," Grissom said, in a voice that was still calm but had a slight edge to it and always had the ability to make Greg quieten. "You were in a house with two murderers at a crime scene for six hours and that is enough to affect anyone, especially a CSI One. You don't get brownie points for trying to appear brave." Greg didn't answer; he looked down at his hands again, forcing his breathing to come out steady and to not get emotional again. It was the last thing he needed in front of his boss, tears. For a few moments he remained silent, trying to sort out the tangle of thoughts in his head, convincing himself everybody was doing this because they cared. Everybody's concern felt like standing in an alternate universe.

"Did...did Nick ever tell you...what he was thinking and feeling whilst he was in that box?" Greg asked quietly.

Grissom nodded. "Yes, he did. It took a while but he confided in me how scared he was for himself the most whilst he was trapped. How he thought of every worst case scenario."

Greg swallowed and took a deep breath to let it out shakily as he tried to repress the images that had started appearing in his mind since that day. "Yeah. He told me too. I guess talking for him helps. And when he told me...whilst I was in that room with those two, I realized that must have been how Nick felt. It felt the same as being trapped in a box." Quietly, he got up from the chair, unwilling to sit there any longer in this ever increasing uncomfortable atmosphere and for once left Grissom to ponder over the significance. Greg could take the long winded paths to the golden answer, but he was rarely cryptic.

"Greg!" Grissom called out before he reached for the door. He stopped but didn't turn round. He heard Grissom sigh. "We all have to make sacrifices as a CSI. We sacrifice our time and sometimes we have to sacrifice our sanity. No one can do this job and act like nothing penetrates them. You may be starting to see and experience what a cold world may be but it doesn't have to turn you cold as well. No man is an island..."

"John Donne?" Greg turned his head slowly. Grissom nodded.

"I wish you could help me, Grissom. I wish you had the ability to erase what's been done or at least make me forget. But I'm damaged now and no amount of talking will stop me from forgetting about this. I'll come round eventually, Grissom. Maybe not in a full circle. There's a part of me that's been left behind now. But let me come to terms with what's happened first before anyone else." And with that, he disappeared out of the door.

Grissom leaned back in his chair, holding his glasses in his hands and a small frown painted upon his face as he watched the door Greg had disappeared out of. Nothing in this line of work was fair. It wasn't fair to the victims of the families they had to see. It isn't fair on them. He had watched them change. Sara...Nick had definitely changed over the last two months...and now Greg. It was hard to imagine people he knew were once so full of life and so jovial be dimmed.

"Hey," Sara said, by the door and walking in slowly when she saw Greg leaving looking despondent. She had waited for the moment to talk to Grissom and Greg, perfectly aware how this was affecting the co-worker she had been particularly close to recently. "How did it go?"

"With little progress. I think he was shocked by my concern. I'm not a natural at this."

"Helping someone getting through a rough time isn't supposed to be easy," Sara said thoughtfully. "But do you think he's holding up? I passed him down the corridor and well...let's just say my off days are nothing compared to that."

Grissom shook his head from side to side slowly not registering what Sara said. "But he made a good point. He has to accept what's happened to him. It just annoys me that he wants to do it all himself. When I know that something bad happened in that room."

Greg walked briskly down the corridor of the lab. He tried to ignore the looks of the swing shift lab techs that he was certain were looking at him as he walked past. Maybe some were concerned; maybe some thought that once again Greg Sanders had fucked up. The last person he needed to see when he was feeling like this was Hodges. When he came in today, he hadn't been expecting an apology from Grissom. He didn't consider it anyone's fault. It happened, he had told himself. He'd followed orders, gone into a crime scene which was believed to be cleared and landed himself as the hostage of the killers. Who was to know? He'd just been unlucky.

Pushing the door to the bathroom open, he silently thanked the air it was empty and walked over to the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. He hated the blemishes on his face; the dark smudges on his face caused by the bruising from fists and the obvious lack of sleep and as he pushed down the side of his shirt, the obvious red swelling of a bite and finger-shaped bruises adorning his neck. Just looking at himself reminded him of what happened. To him, the marks were a timeline of those six hours. Each one mapped the progress of his ordeal. The skin would eventually heal with no marks left. That was the easy part. What he remembered inside was harder to erase.

Greg had never really felt the metal of a gun before. He'd never even trained with a gun. But when he felt the cool metal pressed against his head, it paralysed him. He remembered their voices –he always will now. The gruff sounds in his ear that practically held his life in their hands as they contemplated with desperation how they would get out of this situation. How many times had they threatened to kill him? Greg didn't know? He remembered fists against his body, the punishment for back talking. The way they'd touched him...

_They may have the whole fucking department out there, kid, but there's no way you're getting out of here alive...not unless we do._

For six long hours, Greg wondered if that minute was going to be his last; if they would truly kill him when they said; if his fate would be like the boy.

"Greg?" Nick called, opening the door to the bathroom after he'd spent some time talking to Warrick. Greg didn't answer but remained with his palms pressed against the sink and looking down, his face turned away from Nick to cover his growing emotions. He felt a hand pressed against his shoulder and he flinched slightly. "Sara said you went down here—hey, hey, what's going on, are you all right?"

Greg shook his head, closing his eyes tightly and knowing he was failing at keeping his tears at bay. His body shook slightly but with what emotion, he did not know. With a shaking breath, he whispered, "Take me, home, Nick. Please?"

Nick was rendered stunned by Greg's slip in bravado. He didn't think he'd ever seen the young CSI practically crying before. Greg had never really felt the need to. He'd watched Sara become emotional with rape cases involving women or Nick when it came to abusive situations with children. He'd sort of understood but never really felt the empathy whilst stuck behind a microscope in the lab. In fact, he used to joke about things from his position. Once upon a time he may have danced around halls and found interesting ways of presenting evidence. Now it seemed that had been sucked out of him. Now he had a reason for being helpless and he hated himself for appearing weak in front of anyone, including Nick. But he remembered how emotional, how scared Nick had been the moment they'd opened up that box and thought if there was anyone he was going to break down in front of, it could be Nick.

"Sure." Pulling Greg away from the sink and his own reflection, he turned the younger man around so he was looking at him. "Greg," he said as sincerely as he could, trying to make Greg understand the truth in his words. But he found them so difficult to say. Just looking at Greg he could see a different negative aura about him. "I...You're going to be fine. Come on, now, let's get you back."

As Greg allowed himself to be lead away by Nick to his ride, he remembered what Sophia had once told him about dealing. It seemed so simple to just hold a pillow, watch a movie, drink a few beers and wake up the next day feeling refreshed. Greg had been doing that for over a week and a half now, trying to start over and he came to realize that it wasn't working. Like it or not, this time he was the victim and it was going to take more nights crying into a pillow to get over this one.

He didn't know how everyone else could be so certain of his recovery when he didn't believe it himself. Riding back in Nick's truck, the red sun lighting up the sky in vibrant colours, Greg wondered how a routine crime scene investigation had gone so wrong...

Catherine walked into the lab Warrick was working and spread her hands. "Tell me we got something."

It had been three days since mob boss Sam de Marinez, along with his wife and mother and law had been killed whilst at breakfast. That was the initial crime they were called out for. What happened afterwards was a tangled mess they were trying to amend along with the original. Two men found at the scene were currently in custody but refused to talk and the forensic evidence they had was doing little to help in convicting them for the actual initial killings. That and the motive was still unclear. For the sake of getting close to knowing why Greg had to be held captive, they needed the whole story.

"We got Bobby Dawson confirming our suspicions that the gun was an automatic rifle. They're only used by members of the US Army but I wouldn't be surprised if a mobster couldn't get his hands on one. The way the de Marinez family was killed, the killer literally kept his finger on the trigger and swung back and forth, pumping them full of lead."

"And we have no idea who the gun could belong to," Catherine sighed, feeling defeated. The length of this case was taking her toll. She wished it could be over right now. But little odds and ends seem to be constantly coming lose, causing their case to complicate. She put a hand to her head and thought of all the missing pieces. "There's someone else involved. If those two guys we have were looking for something, they wouldn't have been concerned in ditching the gun."

"Yet we didn't find the gun on them," Warrick pointed out. "I think I agree with you there. Which means the real murderer is still out there. Maybe these two are just the 'need to know' employees."

Catherine shook her head. "Nothing about this _feels _right."

Warrick paused over the microscope and looked up at Catherine who sat with her elbows resting on the table and head in her hands. At first oblivious to her distress, it was quite clear now. He got up from the desk he was working at and sat beside her, wishing to get to the heart of the problem. Knowing he shared an understanding connection with Catherine, he hoped she would open up to him. "You wanna tell me what you're thinking 'bout?"

Catherine took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders to flick her hair behind her. "Doesn't everything feel like it's falling apart?" she asked quietly, looking up at Warrick who in turn, cocked his head to the side inquisitively. "This whole department...the whole aura around it feels different now."

"Catherine, you're not...?" Warrick broke up, not wanting to voice the worst.

"You know, I knew there sacrifices came when it comes to being a supervisor. And although I was happy to get the position, I didn't want it to split us up and make things so tense between us all. There's this invisible power struggle between Grissom and I. Now, after what's happened to Nick and now _Greg, _of all people...don't you wish things could go back to how they were before? It feels like we don't connect anymore." Catherine looked towards the ceiling, not wanting to believe she was saying the words. But after living in denial for over a year whilst being supervisor, the recent events in the department had allowed her to question the benefits of swing supervisor.

Warrick looked at the table and bit his lip. "I don't think a day has gone by that all of us has thought 'there had to be a better way.' We can't dwell on what happened. There have been advantages to this as well. But even in the current situation, there has to be a way to make it better." He remained silent when Catherine didn't answer. "What brought this on, huh?"

Smiling slightly, Catherine shrugged her shoulders. "Grissom. Always one to get you thinking. On the day of the...de Marinez incident, I found out that he'd requested a meeting with Ecklie. He wants to revise the current situations with us. Never thought he'd be the one to get the ball rolling on that one."

Warrick looked down and couldn't help a melancholy smile grow on his lips. Raising an eyebrow he looked over at her. "Well, how did you get to where you are now? Maybe Grissom has opened his eyes as well and realized that sometimes you need to _fight _for the things you want and it ain't gonna make everyone happy."

Nodding, Catherine gave Warrick a look of understanding. "And the thing about it is, I'll probably give it to him. I'm tired of fighting and causing this rift." Feeling Warrick's hand on her back, she felt reassured. She had no idea what the outcome of the meeting would be and although the dread was welling up inside of her, she could only hope for the best.

Greg thought that maybe he was dying.

He could have sworn that at some point he was in Nick's truck, staring at the rapidly setting sun casting an orange glow against the sky. A moment later he was on the ground, feeling the rough surface of the floorboard against his cheek. A voice sounded in his ear gruffly although he couldn't quite know what was being said to him. The words barely mattered compared to the sound of that unforgettable voice.

Greg was crying, he realized. Somewhere to being on the ground and the voice in his head he had started crying and although Greg could admit to showing emotion, appearing weak wasn't one of them. Had he cried in that room? He couldn't remember right. Somewhere further off he could hear the wail of a child. Some voice of innocence of a six year old was begging and pleading for help and he was trapped. Turning his face to the side, Greg figured he'd scratched his face against the headboard.

_They may have the whole fucking department out there, kid, but there's no way you're getting out of here alive...not unless we do. You're our new pawn and god, are we gonna make good use of you so sit tight and shut up! This nightmare of yours has only started and you'll soon wish it was you with the bullet in the back._

Now Greg suddenly realized. The child wasn't pleading for help anymore. The child wasn't begging. He was.

"Greg?" he heard, like a sound from beneath water. "Greg! Greg, can you hear me, wake up?"

He felt someone grab his arm and immediately opened his eyes to pull away. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" he screamed loudly and the silence that followed resembled that after a gunshot. Looking around and taking in gulps of air, Greg noticed he wasn't lying on the floorboards of a small room. He was in Nick's truck, outside his own cubby hole apartment with Nick looking at him from the wheel slightly startled.

Raising his hands, Nick nodded. "All right. I won't. You were just tossing and turning and getting a little uptight in your sleep there."

Greg shrugged as he opened the passenger door to get out. "Well, I'm liable to some heart frightening nightmares every now and again. Thanks for the ride."

Unwilling to let the young CSI get off so easily Nick got up to race after him and stood to block his path to the stairs which lead inside. "These nightmares are every now and again or night after night?"

Greg raised an eyebrow incredulously. He already felt the overbearing sense of Nick suffocating him. "If you're about to lecture me on going to the psychiatrist, then don't waste your breath. Besides, this doesn't happen to be any of your business."

"Well, I'm _making _it my business!" Nick cried back at him. "I had nightmares too, you know. It's all part of the package. But if it's the nightmares that are making you cranky and scared and unwilling to go to sleep but play x-box all night then maybe that's where your problems lie. You can't be afraid of going to sleep, you know, because how else are you going to get better."

Greg now narrowed his eyes. His couch and high energy caffeine sounded so appealing right this instant. "Get out of my way, Nick."

"No. Let me help you, Greg."

"But I don't _need _your help!" Greg shouted back, flailing his arms around wildly. "I need you to go away and leave me alone to get over this in my own way, in my own time. Sorry if I sound arrogant, Nick, I know you're not used to this having not hung around with me that much, but I don't need you or any psychiatrist helping me on a path of happiness." Pausing he took a deep breath and tried to calm his irrational and heated body. Slowly and calmly, he then said, "I don't _need _or _want _your help." And with that, Greg walked back into his apartment, slamming the door behind him and leaving Nick standing on the sidewalk.

TBC...

A/N: I know it feels as though I've just dumped you right in the deep end. This story does continue and it will make sense, I assure you. XD


	2. Ab Initio

Onto Chapter 2. I hope things make a little more sense. It won't clear everything up, though XD

A/N: I don't have a beta at the moment. If anyone is willing or can recommend a place to find betas, I'd be very grateful. I find it impossible to spot the mistakes in my work.

* * *

Carpe Diem

By Halina Renata

**Chapter 2: Ab initio**

_Four days ago_

"Is there a reason you brought the night shift in on this case at noon?" Grissom asked as he closed the door of the SUV and was followed by a sleepy looking Sara and yawning Greg. It had just gone midday and the beginning of October still brought with it extreme heat. On any normal day, the night shift would still just about be sleeping after their night's work but the call from Brass had ordered them to come to a certain address as soon as possible.

"This is going to be one of those high profile cases of the summer," Brass remarked, evidently not pleased about it, as he lead them up to an expensive looking house. "Like I needed the extra pressure. The sheriff told me _personally_ he wants everybody on it. Catherine and Warrick are already here. So this is the house. Ever heard of Sam de Marinez?"

"The man who made his entire fortune on gambling?" Sara asked.

"And...racketeering. _Him_?" Greg interjected, covering up another yawn with the back of his hand. "They say over half his fortune is dirty money. I wasn't even aware they _had _mobs and gangs in Vegas until I heard of this guy."

Brass rolled his eyes at the direction change of conversation. "Well, whatever way he got his money, it's all about to become inheritance. He was murdered this morning. Gardener, Manuel Sanchez, came in the side gate and found him, his wife and the mother-in-law—along with several body guards, naturally—dead in the back garden by the pool." Pushing past the yellow tape he lead them to the wide and impressive looking back garden. It included a large area of green space, a pool and a terrace with the usual garden furniture.

"Wow," Greg whistled as he surveyed the garden in admiration. "One day this is going to be my house."

"Oh, really?" Sara asked with a raised eyebrow and smirk at him as she passed. "With what salary?"

Greg smiled back at her, shifting the camera into his hands. "I'm still young. I'm working on it." Sara rolled her eyes as they finally reached Catherine, Warrick and David by the man's body, which was on the floor. Further on the body of a young dark haired woman lay on the terrace and the older mother in law remained in her seat, never having the chance to get up and run. Two body guards stood by the doors, obviously having been flung back against the wall when shot judging by the splatter on the white wash wall behind them.

"Death was approximately an hour and a half ago," David informed as he stood up. "Each body has at least two or three bullet holes each, probably from an automatic rifle. There's nothing on the bodies."

"Looks like they were just having breakfast," Warrick remarked looking at the table set out with half eaten food. Glasses of oranges juices remained half full and half eaten toasts lay cold on the plates.

Brass sighed and looked at his watch, feeling slightly despondent at the amount of work that was going to take place. "That's some wake up call. Their little boy, Alex, is still unaccounted for but I'm checking out the neighbours and friends. There's going to be more officers along the way sooner. Every reporter in Vegas will turn up here within the next half an hour for this sensation story."

"You sound thrilled."

Brass narrowed his eyes slightly at Greg. "I hate scavengers. You'll grow to as well. By the way, you don't say a word, Sanders. I don't even want to hear a 'no comment' from you."

"Has the inside been cleared yet?" Grissom interrupted, standing up.

"Uh, they're doing it now. Should only take a few minutes."

"All right. Catherine and I will take the bodies. Warrick, you do the perimeter. Sara and Greg, you'll take the inside." Grissom caught Catherine's expression as they all moved off and sighed. It was a raised eyebrow with a playful sardonic expression on her face and Grissom immediately put up his hands in defeat. "Please don't argue with me about rank and file now. I'm very tired when I've been pulled out of bed after only five hours sleep, which, contrary to popular belief, does alter my mood."

"It's all right," Catherine answered as she bent down by one of the bodies, the wife. She had been shot through the back, evidently running towards the house to save her life. Smiling sadly at the beautiful brunette, Catherine hoisted the camera and took some photos of her from all angles. "I—err—hear you've scheduled a meeting with Ecklie to discuss the shift changes."

"I have," Grissom answered, not denying his wish for his original team back. He looked over at her from where he was examining Sam de Marinez. The situation was complicated he had to admit. At the end of the day, it was unlikely that he and Catherine would ever work on the same shifts again, given her want to be supervisor. It had only been in the last week since Nick's ordeal that he'd truly felt the loss of his original team and made steps whilst Ecklie's weakness existed, to get them back. "I'm sorry. I should have consulted you sooner."

"No, I understand. Ecklie's being very considerate lately. I think he's kissing the ass of both of us lately. Nice to know it takes the near death of one of the CSIs to realize the department isn't _all_ about resource allocation and money."

Grissom nodded grimly. "When's Nick scheduled to come back to work?"

"In about a week. He was given as much time as he needed. Although, considering that this meeting with Ecklie will take place beforehand, he'll probably come back to your shift."

Grissom frowned and looked up in momentary confusion. His preoccupation on the body was abandoned as he tried to decipher what Catherine was saying. "This his own wish?"

Catherine laughed as she stood up holding the camera in her hand continuing her work. "Yep. Nicky wasn't happy on my shift. He looked up and respected _you_, Grissom, and you're the one he wanted to make proud, not me. He preferred it when the shifts were back together...He verbally said so. If asked to make his decision, I'm 100 certain he'll choose to go back to you."

Grissom looked down at the ground going into a thoughtful mode. He remembered watching the live feed whilst Nick was down in the box. He remembered Nick recording his goodbye message and lip reading his wish to never disappoint Grissom. For a long time Grissom had tried to refute the idea in Nick's head that he needed Grissom's appreciation but to think independently, like Warrick had learnt to do. And suddenly he thought that maybe if he had given Nick some recognition, even if it was just a little bit, he would be.

"I'm sorry this has become so complicated for us."

Catherine shrugged and kneeled by him. "So am I. We can't always get what we want and be happy. But whatever happens you'll come out fine. You'll probably get Nick and keep Sara and Greg. And Greg seems to be doing well too lately."

Grissom nodded slowly. "Yes, he is."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at him. "He had a good teacher." There was another pause as Grissom once again considered their positions and mess the shifts and inter departmental relationships had become. "Don't go all solemn and pensive on me now. We have a high profile case to solve and at the moment we're still all together. Brass is going to get itchy if we don't get this done fast and I don't fancy the sheriff breathing down my neck either. What are you thinking?"

"Hired hit?" Grissom suggested. "Looks like someone just burst in and started shooting sporadically. This whole wall is riddled with bullet holes from a repeating rifle. They just got everyone in one go."

Catherine sighed. "And I bet a man like Sam de Marinez had quite a few enemies."

Suddenly, Grissom stood up. "Didn't Brass say they had a child?"

"Yes, a son, whereabouts unknown at the moment. Are you thinking that they wanted something from de Marinez? Kidnapped his son? Then why go to the bother of making such a hit and shooting them."

"Maybe they didn't get what they want. Whatever that may be."

Grissom frowned and surveyed the scene again. A sixth sense welled up inside him telling him something about the scene didn't feel right. From an outward perspective it seemed naturally evident that an enemy of a man like Sam de Marinez, who spent a lot of his time in dirty laundering, would make a hit. The shell casings and bullet holes were everywhere. Grissom could already imagine the footprints from where they had entered through the side gate and across the lawn to the terrace to shoot them. It seemed like it would appear a clean case. "Why does something feel wrong about this?"

* * *

Sara watched Greg's face turn into one of awe and admiration as they stepped inside the house next. After waiting for a few moments, they presumed the scene as being safe to process and stepped inside cautiously. "You want a house like this as well then to go with the pool?" she asked as she walked past him into the first room.

"Well, hey, I can dream," he answered, spreading his hands wide and putting his kit down. "When it happens, you're welcome to come to a pool party. God, look at this place! It's like…90 air."

"Your house a little crowded?"

"Let's say in this heat, my air conditioning energy bills can get rather high." He walked into the room Sara was in and his awed expression turned into one of surprise. Surveying the room, he saw what appeared to be a mini chaos. Furniture upturned and papers scattered everywhere, Greg though it reminded him of his apartment sometimes. "Wow. Is de Marinez usually this messy or were the gunmen looking for something in particular." Lifting up his camera in one hand, he snapped a quick picture view of the room.

"I'll-uh-take door number one."

Greg smiled as he sat down next to Sara as they started sorting their way through the papers in the living room. The drawers were open and papers will spilled out everywhere, including several books and portfolios. Many of them seemed to be what every family had: bills, bank statements etc. Sighing, Greg picked up one of the many scattered sheets of paper, reading through it briefly before returning it to the ground. "This is going to take a while. I don't suppose your brought any coffee?"

Sara would never admit how much she enjoyed working with Greg but every so often the signs would slip out obvious to her at least. She would smile at Greg's jokes, his analogies and his suggestions because although he still had the same sense of humour she once deemed as immature, it was being applied sensibly now. And sometimes she found it refreshing from the gruelling job they had to do. At the same time there was also a sense of pride that Greg had proved himself in the field and was getting continually better yet maybe maturity was the price Greg had to pay.

"Man, this guy kept track of every single transaction he made. We're not even supposed to see this. Isn't it illegal in Nevada?"

Sara looked over at the portfolio Greg was holding. "Yeah. Very expensive alcohol on the black market. Probably why he made it into so much money if he was into this and likely many other forbidden substances. I half expect receipts for prostitution to appear." She smiled wryly. "Shame he's dead otherwise he'd have a reason to bring him in."

Greg looked further around the room and stood up. He heard the sounds of police obviously upstairs probably checking out the rest of the house. There was a sense of unease bristling through the house. Although it was practically midday and the house was modern it gave off a negative vibe he now felt when he investigated dead hookers in motel rooms now. Each crime scene, even if it was in a pleasant neighbourhood or setting, would be tainted forever. Putting the portfolio on the table, he straightened up. "A house this big and a man as important as de Marinez...you'd think he'd have a security system somewhere in here."

"Did you see a signs of one?"

"I saw a camera when we walked through the side gate. By the garage." Sara smiled, another sense of that pride seeping through at him again. "And I suppose I should go and look for it. I'm gonna go upstairs. Maybe he has a study or an office around here where he keeps track of all this stuff."

Sara nodded, back to intently studying the pieces of papers in front of her, assessing their relevance. "Okay, be careful."

Taking his kit, Greg started up the stairs and pushed the door at the top which lead him to standing on the top floor of the house. Briefly looking around, he found it strangely odd that there was not a single uniformed officer in sight. It gave an eerie quiet feeling to it all despite the fact he could hear muffled sounds of Catherine's voice outside and Sara occasionally shuffling papers downstairs. Flashing lights signalled the presence of cops outside. Despite this, he felt almost unprotected. Shrugging off his apprehension and shaking his head as this sudden paranoia, he walked to each door along the corridor and checked inside if he could see any sign of a security system or anything which would indicate what the gunmen had murdered the de Marinez family for.

That was a great start, he thought to himself as he finished the first four doors. He had found a camera but with no idea where it linked to. He hoped there was no external monitor he would have to search and that it was just carefully hidden somewhere in the house. Turning the corner of the corridor with new hope, he immediately frowned as he spotted something up ahead rather unusual. It looked like a foot and for a moment Greg wondered whether there truly was another body on the floor. But if that was the case then the officer who had searched the house for clearing would have spotted it immediately.

Pausing, he looked around before continuing. Greg's worst suspicions were confirmed and froze as he reached it seeing that around the corner, it was indeed a body. However, what was worse was that it was the body of a cop one which had gone into the house before he and Sara had been assigned to. Right now, he lay face down with a bullet lodged somewhere in his spine and the blood carefully pooling on the white linoleum floor. A smear indicated that the body had been dragged. Greg swallowed carefully and took a step back from him. If that was the case and the cop had been killed _after _they arrived then that meant...

"Sar..." he started to say but found he couldn't get the words out. He turned around to call her again when he first heard a click and then the sight of a metal barrel pointing directly at his forehead. Breath hitching his throat and his eyes unable to deter away from the end of the gun, Greg at that moment understood what it meant when the blood ran cold in the veins. The air was sucked from his body and he remained motionless, not even daring to blink.

"Don't even think about moving or yelling or you become like him, understand?" the one holding the gun in front of him whispered and Greg could just about nod. He stared straight ahead at the white wall, not wanting to see the gunmen's face or the body below him.

"There's someone else downstairs," another man whispered further off and Greg's eyes flickered to another man that appeared from his right side towards them. The first man still had a gun trained on him. He felt his situation worsen at the realization that there were two gunmen in the house. "What are we gonna do?" the second one asked.

"No more killing! This is getting too messy and out of hand. There are cops all over the place." His voice sounded rough right beside his ear with a hint of panic and Greg swallowed as the gun wavered briefly in his hand. But Greg sensed that he was the more rational one and the one in control. Turning his gaze back, he looked at the first man holding the gun at him. He was ever so slightly shorter, dark hair, natural tan, maybe of Latin American descent descent.

The second gunman clenched Greg's arm and spun the younger man round to face him. He was met with a grin that was too wide and exhilarated to be deemed safe but remained rock still as the man eyed him up and down. "Well, who is this and how did he get up here?"

"He's probably another one of those cops that are searching the house at the moment." The first gunmen put a hand to his head. "Fuck it. Don't do anything, we can't afford to kill yet another cop."

The second gunmen's smile only seemed to widen, his grip still on Greg's arm. "Don't worry, we're _definitely _not killing this one."

"Can you just shut up about your wants for the moment? We have bigger things to think about. We have to keep him; he's the only one that can help us get everybody out of here." Looking at Greg pointedly, the first man said in a more controlled and steely voice, "Come on." His feet answered the command and he followed the man slowly along the corridor until he was made to stand against the wall beside the stairs and still facing the gunman. The second one stood on the other side of the stairs. Greg looked at the ceiling, forcing his laboured breaths to come out more evenly. This had to be a nightmare or some strange CSI field training scare Grissom had carried out.

"All right," said the one directly in front of him, too close into Greg's personal space. "You don't have to get shot. Just listen to me. You are going to call that girl here and..."

Greg shook his head, the numbness of his body switching directly into panic and the thought of putting Sara in this kind of danger as well. "No, don't..." he started to say but immediately stopped and gasped when the gun relocked by his ear again and he closed his eyes, fearing death imminently. His body shook from the tension and the fear he was currently experiencing. "Don't shoot, please…"

"_Listen,_" the man repeated again in a harder voice but whispered menacingly. "You are going to call her here and you're going to tell her to get out of here along with everyone else in and around this house. I don't want anyone near it. I want people where I can see them. And if that doesn't happen, we're not gonna hesitate killing you like everyone else." For emphasis, he moved the gun in direct contact with Greg's head so it touched his skin. "Understand?"

Greg nodded quickly and opened his eyes. "Just don't hurt her." Prompted by the man in front of him he stole a deep breath and turned his head to the side. "Sara!" he yelled, wondering if his voice sounded as shaky to her as it did to him right now. And for a few seconds there seemed to remain the calm, beautiful silence.

* * *

"Miss, Sidle?" one of the cops said, appearing from the kitchen area. "The downstairs area is clear. Officer Topps is still checking the upstairs but we can give it the all clear."

"Thanks."

Sara had shifted through masses of papers and so far failed to find anything of relevance. And what remained of the search the killers had done did little to help them find what they had been looking for. She quickly assorted what she could find into separate files hoping to go through them and then began dusting the drawers and table tops, hoping the killers had not worn gloves.

Undoubtedly some of them would be from the de Marinez family but Sara figured she might get lucky. Six different prints she collected to send back to the lab and began to put them methodically into her kit.

"Hey."

Sara jumped and looked towards the window. Warrick stood there, smiling slightly from the outside looking in from where he had been working the perimeter of the building. "Don't do that, Warrick. This place is creepy and eerily quiet as it is without people jumping on you." Looking at the ceiling, she presumed she could hear Greg walking around still searching for a security system.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't like this place at all. I've got nothing on my end here. The killers must have come through the back and I just hope there haven't been any sprinklers turned on to make the ground too wet. What have you got?"

Sara sighed. "A very big mess and some fingerprints. They were obviously looking for something. Almost every room on the downstairs is like this."

Warrick peered inside the room and felt as unhopeful as Sara. "With a man like de Marinez it could be anyone looking for anything. Let's hope your prints come up. Where's Greg?"

"Upstairs, looking around."

Warrick nodded, suddenly feeling as though the conversation had run dry. It had been a while since he'd had the opportunity for a proper talk with Sara. Normally, that would make one think there would be plenty to catch up on. However, as Warrick had found out, the rough and sudden shift changes made it impossible to talk to his former colleagues. He had barely spoken to Grissom and during the brief period when trying to find Nick, there was little time for reminiscent conversation. Now it seemed almost impossible to talk.

"How've you been doing, Sara?"

"I'm fine, you?"

"I've been doing good. And Greg?"

Sara shrugged as she finally closed her kit. "You should know. You and Nick are the ones that are constantly checking up on him after strenuous cases it seems. You should know how he's been doing."

Warrick frowned at the unexpected outburst. Quite honestly, it was the last thing he expected from her. "What's that supposed to mean. Is it wrong to check up on a friend every now and again?"

"I'm the one supervising him."

"And he's a CSI One who's learning from everybody. Sara, why are you shooting me down? All I did was check up on him a couple of times. Sometimes, me, him and Nick hung out, tried to forget about cases this whole mucked up situation. You did the same for Nick when he...when we got him out."

Sara paused, and then nodded quietly, not willing to admit defeat. "I'm so sick of all this. How's Nick been doing anyway? I haven't...had the chance to go round recently."

"He's doing good. Think he wants to get back to work. He's probably watching this on TV and screwing he's not here to work on it too," Warrick remarked with a smile.

"I'll bet."

A pause hung in the air again, once again left with nothing to talk about. "I get it, Sara; you're over protective of Greg. And at the same time you've spent this whole year with Grissom and I've barely been able to have a chat with the guy cause we don't even share the same times anymore. The same way I was with Nick that time. This whole thing will get sorted out eventually, you'll see. But at the moment...don't you think it's sad we're biting our heads off?" Warrick sighed sadly. "I better go find some footprints. I'll see you back at the lab."

"Bye," Sara said quietly and looked around the room again. She wanted to kick herself. She didn't know she had been so snippy towards Warrick, after all they had worked together. Worked. Past tense. They didn't work together anymore. Night shift and Day shift were two separate groups of people that had once worked together. And since then, everything had felt awkward between them all.

Sara was about to pick up her case and walk out when something caught her eye. Bending down, she retrieved a crumpled up picture near the table she had been working by. Peeling it open carefully, she studied it for a second. The picture revealed the photograph of a young girl who could not have been more than twenty five years old. A pretty brunette with light caramel skin, smiling at the camera. A long necklace was wrapped around her neck and the dress she wore suited her perfectly.

Sara must have spent five minutes studying the picture. Then someone called her name.

* * *

"Sara!" Greg yelled again, waiting for her response. He felt very hot – his fear and rapid breathing had increased his body temperature making him feel very uncomfortable. Biting his lip, he prayed that Sara had gone out of the house already.

"One second, I think I found something."

"No, just...come here _now, _Sara!" he cried; now certain the desperation was evident.

Her footsteps were heard against the linoleum standing at the foot of the stairs. "What have you done, Greg?" she chided playfully.

"Don't come up! Don't." He took another deep breath, glancing briefly at the narrowed eyes of the gunman in front of him and the one on the other side. The second one to the side was smiling at his menacingly, also holding the gun provocatively in his direction that he grimaced. "Sara, I need you to do something. I need you to get Grissom and everyone and tell them to get off the site of the house straight away."

He could practically imagine Sara frowning in confusion, not going to leave until she had set everything straight. She always had to know the full story when being asked to do something. "Greg, this is a crime scene and we have a crime to solve. We can't just leave." She paused for a second. "Have you found a bomb?"

Greg looked at the ceiling, right now wishing it was a bomb he had found. It was a better alternative to this. "Not quite," he answered quietly, trying to keep his voice steady and hide the fear behind it. "Just do I say this once, please? I know what I'm talking about. The gunmen are here."

"What?"

Slower, he repeated, trying to get the point across without showing how scared he was, "The gunmen are _here_, Sara."

There was a few seconds of silence. Greg wondered whether she had disappeared to do as she was told or was about to come up herself with a gun. When her voice returned, it was one of understanding and concern. "Greg, are you oka…"

But before he was able to finished, the second gunman to the side of him suddenly got impatient and came into view of Sara. "Will you just do as he says or I'll just fucking shoot him right now!" he screamed in a manic way, which seemed to suggest that he wasn't in complete control of himself. His arm was stretched out shakily towards Greg, who gripped the banister of the stairs tightly behind him and shut his eyes again. Now there were two guns trained on him. Two grips that could pull that delicate trigger. Greg suddenly understood the phrase hanging in the balance.

Taking a deep breath, he yelled "Please, Sara, just do as they say!"

Sara didn't say anything. She simply fled and for a fleeting moment, Greg felt himself despair at her loss for he was now definitely alone. He was upstairs with the dead body of a cop and two gunmen that seemingly killed without care. At the moment everyone was oblivious to what was going on but in a few seconds he could imagine the chaos. The triple homicide had now evolved into that, along with the death of a cop and now a hostage situation and he was at the core of this understatement of 'problem.'

He cursed himself, wondering how disappointed Grissom would be with him now. This was worse than messing up a crime scene, he figured, and after the ordeal with Nick only a few weeks back, Grissom and the entire team could have done without the added burden that was CSI Level One – Greg Sanders.

Once again, he felt himself being dragged away. "Put him back in the room with the boy," the first one ordered the second.

He was lead down the corridor, past the body of an officer again which he tried not to look at in remorse and into a room with a thicker oak door. As he was pushed inside, his eyes caught sight of a smaller boy sitting against the wall furthest away from the door. He couldn't have been more than six years old; his dark hair and olive coloured skin immediately giving him away as the son of Sam de Marinez. Greg landed on his hands and knees in front of the young boy as he was pushed in, catching his eye and then immediately turned around so he could face his captor in fear of an attack.

The second gunman had knelt down in front of Greg so they were facing inches apart. His face turned into a smile, an unpleasant one and which, to Greg, looked predatory. His instinct was to back away from him as far as possible because the close proximity of their bodies was unnerving. Greg leaned back slightly but the man only seemed to follow like a magnet, practically straddling his outstretched legs and he immediately stopped when the gun rested on his cheek. If it weren't so deadly, the cool metal would have felt soothing against his hot skin. But as it slid slowly down his cheek with the other man's gaze never leaving his, Greg knew the sinister implication.

"You've just made my day, boy," the gunman said, smiling in the most disgusting way Greg had ever seen.

"What do you want?" Greg asked, trying to appear unfazed.

"Well, right now we have a job to do. But now…we also have you." The gunman leaned closer and Greg felt his heart tense at the sudden close proximity but he didn't avert his gaze, especially not with the gun touching his cheek. In a moment of heart clenching panic, he realized he was trapped. "And boy, I am going to make use of you in more ways than one."

Now, Greg turned his head away to not look at the attacker and not have the face the problem he had landed himself in. His whole body clenched rigidly in fear, knowing how his own personal situation had escalated beyond a simple hostage. But the manic grabbed him by his hair and turned him back round again, making him wince. He didn't move, suspended in time for a moment, only feeling the gunman's breathe on his face and his continued strange smile. The smell of stale cologne lingered in the air, making Greg want to repulse.

"This is going to be so much fun," the gunman whispered menacingly. Standing up, he let go of Greg's hair to leave the room and close the door behind him. With the adrenaline now leaving his system, Greg's head fell back against the floor and he breathed heavily, as if he'd just ran a marathon; his heart thundered rapidly against his chest from the continual fright he was feeling. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Greg cursed between his teeth at the threatening situation he was now in.

TBC...

Thank you for your reviews:

**goblz**, **Radioactive** **Raccoony**, **dd9736**, **James'** **Grl**, **Guardian6 **(I found it scary that you already knew about me, lol) **Kate** **Maxwell **and **Goody **(Thank you for your very insightful review by the way. I enjoy reading reviews like that. And I'd never really noticed my overuse of 'whilst.' I'll keep a track on that XD)


	3. Non Sum Qualis Eram

Onto chapter 3. Sorry it's taken so long, but what with school starting and all.

I think you may be plunged back into confusion again but it will sort itself out.

Hope you Enjoy

* * *

Carpe Diem

By HalinaRenata

**Chapter 3: Non Sum Qualis Eram**

_Present Day_

Sara stifled a yawn as she walked into the break room and headed straight towards the coffee. The last four days had hardly been strenuous. Ecklie, being the kind soul he was lately, had moved the few currently open cases onto days, leaving the short staffed swing and night shift to deal with the problem that had occurred at the de Marinez residence. She hated how much it all bothered her. Ever since Nick's burial and now Greg's hostage situation, Sara found it increasingly hard to see the group sticking together. They had all changed and Sara disliked change in an environment she had grown accustomed to. A black cloud filled with negative energy was pouring down on them. What annoyed her more was the lack of progress on the de Marinez case, which should have been open and shut.

But no, Grissom wanted to know it all. Sara could see he had taken the hostage situation hard. He hadn't been able to protect Greg, just like he hadn't been able to protect Nick. So he comforted himself by getting to the absolute truth of what happened. It was evident the two who had held Greg hostage had been involved in the death of the de Marinez family but now Grissom was going for the why as well as the how. And Brass, along with the Sheriff, was not complaining.

As she picked a cup up from the shelf in the break room, a small sigh startled her and she turned around, the cup threatening to fall from her grasp and wake the sleeping figure she saw on the sofa of the break room. Releasing a relieved breath, she walked over to Greg, who lay on his back with his eyes closed. As carefully as she could, she sat on the edge of the couch, as to not disturb the sleeping figure, who looked as though he'd spent little time sleeping, and studied him.

Dead to the world, Greg looked younger and much more relaxed than Sara had seen him in the whole year since starting his training. Yet the signs of maturity were present. The longer, better kempt hair; the lines on his face indicating a daily strain; the dark smudges under his eyes and the slight frown on his face showing his exposure and dislike of the cruelties of the world. Then, of course, there were the fading bruises on his face, so uncharacteristically Greg, marring his practically flawless features. Sara hadn't seen him erase those lines with a laugh for a long time now. Sure, he joked, he made fun. But he wasn't the same Greg anymore.

"Stop it, you're making me feel self conscious," Greg suddenly remarked, not opening his eyes but remaining in his relaxed position.

Sara jumped at the sound of his voice and looked away to stare at her coffee cup on the counter. "What are you doing here? You should be at home, resting. You have a week's leave."

"It's hard to sleep on your own when you wake up from imagining someone's shooting you. And there's no one in the room. Or you just can't sleep because you're afraid that you'll have that nightmare. Being shot. Or being alone." Still, his eyes remained closed but Sara noticed the difference in his breathing; how it sped up and proved his emotions were running again, but trying hard to keep them at bay.

"You're not alone, Greg."

Greg opened his eyes and sat up suddenly, looking around. "No, not here. It feels less threatening— unpenetretable —here. But the hubbub of the lab still makes it impossible to sleep. Go figure, can't win either way." Swinging his legs around, he sat beside Sara on the couch, rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands across his face to rest in his hair. For a few moments there was silence. Only the distant sounds of life in the lab murmured outside the walls. Sara took the opportunity of the empty break room to scoot closer to Greg and rest a hand on his shoulder. She felt him flinch ever so slightly but was pleased the younger man didn't completely shrug her off.

"When was the last time you slept?" she asked quietly.

Greg lifted his head from staring at the floor and laughed bitterly as he rubbed his legs. "You mean sleep as in 'passed out?' I think I managed that two days ago after going six rounds on the playstation. I played a game which involved me shooting people and suddenly thought the graphics aren't that realistic. Blood and death doesn't…_look_ quite like that." He laughed with twisted mirth. "Since then it's like doing night shift on repeat."

"Greg," Sara said sternly. "Don't be like this."

He looked at her and smiled sadly—ghostly—before glancing down to his hands in front of him, trying to brush away his emotions. "Be like what? It's okay. I can keep up this attitude for a while. I need to get over this somehow." He paused for a moment and looked at Sara who was staring at him disapprovingly. Sighing, he leaned back against the seat. "You think I'm going mad; well, if it's any consolation I think I am too." He tried to joke again lightly but it failed, only making Sara's despise the pity she was feeling for him.

She immediately stood up and knelt down in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. Yet Greg refused to look at her, just staring at the wall of the break room in front of him. Sara didn't know what was more startling. Greg crying or Greg trying to hide what he was feeling. The normally open, inextinguishable man in front of her was slowly being worn down; beaten by the horrors of a real world he had previously been secluded from.

To Sara, he looked haunted.

"You're not going mad, Greg. You're going through a rough time. You have a right to be scared."

Greg wiped the sleeve of his long jumper across his eyes whilst nodding. "I know, I know. Nick said the same thing, hell, I think even Grissom touched on it. Then again, he probably touched on several areas but it's Grissom you know, you can never tell what he's implying or if he's even worried." Greg wasn't even aware he was rambling, a stream of panicked words rolled off his tongue. "And it's not like I'm deliberately not appreciating the help but you can't see where I'm coming from in this situation. Sara, have you _ever _had a gun pointed at you? _Right_ at your head, with someone's finger resting on the trigger, so delicately that even the slightest touch could…?" Finally, glassy eyes looked directly at Sara instead of the wall and all she could see in them was pain and fear.

She knew what he was asking. Nick had asked it once a long time ago. Could she even understand what it felt like to have your life hanging in the balance? Nick had had a gun pointed at him twice – he'd even pointed it at himself. "No," she said quietly. "But I did have a mental lunatic hold a knife to my neck. It comes under the same category. I know what it feels like to be...vulnerable and helpless." Trying to take his hand in hers she was startled when this time he pulled away abruptly. Looking up into his face, she tried not to let the strange action faze her. "You need to calm down."

Greg shrugged and stood up, breaking the contact with her intense gaze, and the feeling of her hands wishing to touch him. Standing up past her, he walked past the counter and leaned against it, seemingly in thought with his quivering hand resting by his mouth. Sara simply remained silent, not wanting to push him into anything that was likely to panic him or worse. It was a few moments before he spoke. He smiled sadly suddenly causing her to look up.

"You know, my mom used to say that my attitude would never get me far, acting like a kid. I think she was disappointed that I could never take things seriously like her. I figured I have a good use for it right now. And right when I need it, it's no longer there; it's swept from beneath me. Once upon a time, this wouldn't have phased me. I would have joked about how I'd been stupid enough to upstairs without taking you with me...or...or...I don't know. See, I can't even remember how I used to be." He sighed in frustration. "I could just about deal with seeing the things we do, Sara. I can manage externally seeing the results of one person being cruel to another and filling in the missing pieces.

But when it happened to me, it turned everything around. In there, when they pointed that gun at me, or at that little kid, I knew what the last second of a victim's life felt like. What it's like to watch someone actually die. And...and...I can't deal with all this, Sara, I need time, I can't do it..." His voice cracked and he turned away so his back was to her, ashamed of so being so openly emotional in front of Sara. He squeezed his eyes shut, begging for the tears to stay at bay.

Standing up, Sara walked across to him and grabbed his wrists to keep his hands to the sides and calm the agitated state he was working himself into. "Look at me, Greg," she tried to say calmly; tried to hide how scared she was by the changing persona in front of her. It was like literally watching someone's demeanour change.

"Don't, Sara." His plea in Sara's mind, sounded heartbreaking. She'd never heard him this defenceless before. She wondered whether he had pleaded in this same way to the gunmen.

"Greg, look at me!" Her hands moved to Greg's face now, lifting his head up to make sure the younger man was looking at her. "Greg, change is part of this, okay? It's part of this job. No one is expecting you to be the same after all this."

Shrugging, Greg leaned back against the counter again. "Nick is."

"What?"

"Aw, fuck, and I was such a bastard to him." At Sara's insistent and confused look, he hesitated before continuing. "I know he means well. I know all of you do and…I appreciate the fact that you're all concerned. I just can't _deal _with it all. Nick thinks he knows what's best for me and it's suffocating me."

"It's only because he wants to help."

"I know…I know." With a watery smiled, he said, "But how can he possibly expect me to get over this just like that when he's only just come to terms with his own ordeal." Greg took a deep breath and attempted to smile again. "I like getting attention. Although I'm not used to having this much and for all the wrong reasons. I just need some time. A way of getting over it which doesn't have everyone in the lab pointing me in certain directions."

"That's what psychiatrists are for, Greg. I may have been able to help you occasionally but I'm not always going to be here."

Greg shook his head immediately turning round and his fingers playing with the cuffs of his long sleeved jumper again. He bit his lip nervously, eyes becoming rapidly bright "Can't talk about it. Stop asking me. I can't even admit it to myself." The last thing person he wanted to admit to was Sara, someone he'd considered himself in love with for the best part of five years. He still was in love with her. For the last year, at least, they'd grown closer and Greg had learnt more from and about her than ever before. There was no way he would be willing to jeopardize it.

"Why not?" Sara asked, peering at him. They were standing so close that Greg felt a spark of fear and elation they were with each other's personal space. Her hands still lightly rested on his shoulders.

"I'm too scared of the whole process. The and...and…"

Sara frowned and pressed closer, sensing the underlying words to his hesitation. Stepping up to him, she put her hands on his upper arms and peered into his face "And what?" she whispered slowly, feeling time standing still.

"Asha..."

Before he could say anything more, the door to the break room opened and Grissom walked in, obviously searching for them. Immediately, Greg and Sara pulled apart, feeling embarrassed although they had effectively done nothing wrong. Greg cursed himself. Somehow, it always seemed, no matter what he did, Greg was in a position of humiliation in front of Grissom. Without a doubt, something would happen. Turning around, he walked to the counter to make himself a cup of coffee, quickly wiping his sleeve across both eyes to hide any indication of tears in front of his boss.

"Greg." Grissom took off his glasses and looked at his side profile inquisitively, in the way that made Greg want to shrink and disappear. "I wasn't expecting you here."

"Well...home's pretty quiet. Besides, I'm not really getting any answers there."

"Answers?" Greg nodded and Grissom's gaze drifted towards Sara briefly. "Well, Luca is about to be taken into questioning now. If you wanted to watch..."

Greg suddenly swallowed. When he meant answers, he hoped for some kind of a de briefing, possibly run down to Mia and see what was happening in DNA. Hell, he'd even strike a conversation with Hodges to see what was going on. He hadn't really expected to ever, hopefully, in the near future see Luca again. Let alone talk about the ordeal with him. But Grissom was looking at him expectantly and Sara seemed to be silently urging him on behind him so he relented and nodded, preparing himself for meeting his attacker again.

* * *

"I take it they're still not saying anything," Grissom questioned, walking down the corridor with Brass.

"Absolute zip. Of course, they're not denying it, they can't. They know the forensic evidence is mounted up against them. It's practically covering my desk. They're just not admitting to the third person involved in the shooting or why they did all this in the first place. Which is the part you want to know, right?"

Grissom nodded.

"What happened to 'we are the how and not the why?'"

"That changed when they dragged in one of my team," Grissom answered sternly. "We know they were responsible for shooting the de Marinez family but we don't know why. We don't even know why they stayed in the house to look for that piece of jewellery. They'll go take the murder rap for it all but this time I'm not going to get any peace from it unless I find out what really happened."

Brass frowned as he walked to catch up with Grissom. The man had a confident stride. Not many people were able to openly read Gill Grissom. When he wanted, the man could keep his emotions in a jar on a shelf. Jim Brass had a pass, though. "Is this really about your peace of mind? Or Greg's? Because from where I'm standing, this looks like the path of redemption for a guilt trip."

Grissom sighed as he put the file down in his office and sat down. At times like these, he wished no one was able to read him. "Jim. I wasn't able to help him in that house. I couldn't be there to tell him what to do when he needed it. And now I just don't know what to tell him. I can't..._talk_...to Greg and help him get over the pain he's dealing with right now. That's a job best suited for Catherine or Nick." Opening the file, he glanced down at the pages again to avoid the face of his friend. "All I can offer him is an explanation in the hope it will help."

Brass shrugged. "Well, I think you're being too hard on yourself. No one was able to do anything. If you or any of the SWAT team had gone into that house, and they would have seen on those cameras in that room, Greg, as well as that poor kid would have been dead. All you had was a phone connection. You did what you could."

The door suddenly opened and Catherine walked in. "Grissom," she said. "Ecklie wants to see us tomorrow at ten. Will you remember that? Or should I set some kind of timer for you." A slight quirk of the mouth let him know she was joking.

Grissom smiled back. "I'll manage to remember."

"Good. And by the way, Greg is in the lab. He's in the break room. I thought he was still on medical leave."

Frowning, Grissom looked back up. "He is."

Brass looked at his watch and sighed. "Well, I'm going back in to interrogate Luca Lusardo. The guy's been sitting and stewing for a while so let's hope he's willing to talk given the mountain of evidence against him. You going to come in with me? Greg can observe...if he wants to that is. If you're not going to send him home."

Grissom nodded and stood up, walking towards the break room. From the window, he could see him standing up and talking with Sara. Not wanting to interrupt straight away, Grissom simply observed and watched. For a second, Greg looked on the verge of breaking down into tears or at least trying to control it. In a matter of minutes, Sara had managed to calm him down. It amazed Grissom, really. Once upon a time, Sara would never have walked a foot inside Greg's personal space and now here she was comforting him like he meant something to her.

Grissom liked to think he observed and noticed everything plain in sight and those which weren't as conspicuous. However, he had to admit that it was only just now occurring to him the possibility that maybe an office romance was growing in front of his eyes. Or maybe, Grissom thought to himself, he had been unwilling to admit it to himself.

Walking inside the break room, he pretended not to notice how close they were standing, although it was evident by how far they jumped back from one another. "Greg," he said in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you here."

Greg shrugged apathetically. "Well...home's pretty quiet. Besides, I'm not really getting any answers there."

"Answers? Well, Luca and Tony are about to be taken into questioning now. If you wanted to watch..."

Grissom could have sworn he saw a slightly nauseous look pass across Greg's face and was about to revoke the invitation when Greg swallowed before nodding.

A quarter of an hour later, Greg found himself sitting on the table with his feet resting on the chair as he looked through the glass into the interrogation room. Sara watched him from not far away, ready to be there in case anything happened; in case something was said to upset Greg. Through the window was Luca Lusardo. Four days later, he looked no different. If anything, he looked more worn out than when Greg saw him before. Still, he felt no sympathy for the man who had threatened him numerously.

"Now, let's clear up some things here," Brass started, sitting across from him. "We got a whole stack of evidence so I can just take my pick here. Most of it is against you but I figured you knew that anyway. Of all the bullets taken from the victims, two of them came from you: the boy and the cop. Which says that you didn't kill the Marinez family, but you were involved. What did you get involved in, a mob killing?"

Luca's eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he released a sudden chuckle, like he thought this a personal joke. "You think this about a mob killing? You think I'm part of some gang hired to hit out Sam de Marinez? Did my records show that too?"

Brass shrugged. "You tell me. Right now, that's what it looks like. Did he do something to piss your boss off?"

Rolling his eyes, Luca leaned back in his chair as if the conversation bored. "I am not telling you shit."

Brass shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it doesn't matter if you tell us anyway. You're still doing the time. You killed a cop, which was probably the stupidest thing you did in that room. Oh, wait, you also held a CSI captive in a room for a couple of hours and shot a boy in the back while he was running. You're one of the heartless criminals I've met and thankfully the justice system likes putting people like you away or just giving you the death penalty. So you may as well start your last rites here by telling us what happened."

Luca shrugged and looked towards the window with a cocky smile on his face. Greg's eyes immediately flickered away to his hands, unwilling to make any contact at all, even if the man couldn't see through the glass to him. The knowledge that Luca knew he was there made him feel unsafe again.

"Can't Greg tell you? I mean, he was there too. Or is he too frightened to talk about."

"Why did you kill the de Marinez family?"

"You know, _technically_, the boy didn't really have to die. It wasn't nearly as satisfactory as watching Sam de Marinez take his own last gulps of life. He watched his wife die and then his mother die. And then he died. And he deserved it too the self pretentious bastard."

Brass frowned and glanced over at Grissom, hoping the CSI wouldn't suddenly lose his temper. Even he was beginning to get impatient and the worst thing was that Luca knew they were desperate to know. And he exploited it by agitating them. Brass forced the most sardonic smile on his face. "Was that a confession?"

"It's whatever you twist it into being. I didn't kill the de Marinez family, though."

Brass slammed his hands down on the table and leaned forward. "Who _did_?" he demanded dangerously. "I'm beginning to lose my patience here and I can admit to that. Four days of running round in circles is quite enough for me." Luca remained quiet, just staring at Brass in a defiant way.

"You're already going to the chair," Grissom said quietly from the darkened corner. "You'll be dead while your partner will just be spending twenty five years in prison. And you're still be taking the fall for all of this while the other remaining guy goes free."

"I'm not afraid of any death penalty." Luca shrugged indifferently. "It was going to happen sooner or later."

A moment of silence descended on them. Brass didn't want to appear as though he was losing his cool although this was rapidly turning into one of those few times where resisting the urge to play bad cop was hard. However, slamming Luca's head into a wall would only give satisfaction for a few moments. Grissom remained passive for a few seconds before taking out a sealed plastic evidence bag and looking at it before turning it around to show Luca. It was a photograph of a necklace which they'd found on the floor of the room when they'd apprehended the two gunmen.

"Was _this_ worth it?" Grissom asked quietly stonily.

Luca looked over at the photograph and then a sly smile crossed his lips as though he was thinking of a distant memory. "Yeah, it was actually, in the end."

"You killed an entire family for one necklace. Was it worth a lot of money?"

Luca laughed, straightening his chair back upright and putting his elbows on the table. "Why does everybody always think it's about money? There are other motives for murder."

"Revenge?"

"Retribution is a better word. Sam de Marinez was a murderer."

Brass rolled his eyes. "Funny. I didn't see murder on his rap sheet. Extortion, yes. But no murder."

"I suppose you have to read between the lines. Look for the subtext."

Brass stood up, walking towards the window to try and calm his nerves.

Greg and Sara watched from the other side. For the most part, Sara noticed that Greg spent little time looking through the window but he was undoubtedly listening. His face was creased into a frown yet he looked nervous: as if he suspected something bad would come out of Luca. Sara herself was quite concerned. Of the two gunmen Sara had seen, Luca seemed much more dangerous than the one currently in hospital. His more muscular build and the attitude he was presenting gave him a threatening appearance. Sara cast yet another worried glance at Greg; worried how he had managed to spend all that time in the room with him. She guessed most of his visible injuries were a result of this man.

"Are you trying to turn this murder into a puzzle?" Grissom suddenly asked, frowning in annoyance.

Luca shrugged. "Isn't that what they are anyway? Isn't that your _job,_ Mr Grissom? To solve the puzzle. My situation is no different to the one you're facing right now."

Grissom raised an eyebrow in question and pushed himself off the wall. "How so?"

"You'd do anything to protect your family, wouldn't you? If someone hurts your family you have an urge to do something back. It's a natural reaction. There's a bit of an 'eye for an eye' in all of us. And let's face it. I hurt your little CSI rookie and underneath all that calm you're just itching to do something, aren't you? Aren't you just desperate to find out what happened to him equally as much as the family?"

"Did Sam de Marinez do something personally to you?"

"I guess that's something you're going to have to find out on your own because I'm not telling you shit..."

"If Sam de Marinez was who you were mad at, why take out the whole family?" Brass shouted.

"Like I said!" Luca yelled back, slamming his hands on the ground, making everyone, including Greg, jump visibly. "The boy didn't have to die. If he hadn't tried to escape. I suppose you got your CSI kid to blame for that, trying to be all heroic. But between you and me,"—his eyes flickered back to the window briefly—"Greg didn't really know what he was doing in there. He was scared shitless. But he handled it pretty well...sometimes. I only saw him distraught twice. Once when I shot the kid and the other time...you'll have to ask him about that, won't you. When he sums up the courage to talk..."

Greg stood up angrily and opened the door to observation room and went out into the corridor. Thankfully it was empty. When the door slammed shut behind him he put his hands to the side of his head and swore repeatedly to himself. He couldn't sit there and listen to Luca showing him off. He didn't want to be there when they found out what had happened while he was in the room with them. Sure, he wanted to know the story about the murder, but not the additional story about himself. It made him want to curl up in embarrassment. The worst thing was, eventually it would come out.

"Greg?" Sara asked putting a hand on her shoulder as he whirled round in surprise, his breath catching in his throat. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't mean to freak out. I'm just...can't listen to it."

Sara nodded in understanding. "Do you want to go back home?" Greg shook his head and continued pacing up and down the corridor in a jittery fashion. "We'll just go back to the lab." Directing him down the corridor, holding his arm, Sara grew more concerned the more she looked at Greg. The more she thought about it, the more prepared she was to agree with Grissom, however horrible it was. Something bad happened in that room.

They drove in silence. Greg stared blindly out of the passenger window. He felt too tired and too lethargic to do anything more at the moment. The scene in the interrogation room would be enough for the moment. Hopefully he would be able to sleep tonight and not think about it. He was well aware Sara had been watching and still was watching him. Yet Greg continued staring and let her ponder.

"Do you know when I was most scared?" Sara suddenly asked in the car as they drove back to the lab. He paused for a few moments and then shook his head against the window pane. Sara took a deep breath inside, her voice breaking ever so slightly. "When I realized I couldn't do anything for you. When you finally got you out of that house, out of the door and you wouldn't look at anyone. You didn't even look or react to me."

Greg looked at her for a few moments driving, trying to find some useful words to dislodge themselves from his throat and come out. But he had nothing to say. He wasn't even sure why she had told him this. Wordlessly, he rested his head against the window again and didn't move until they reached the lab.

* * *

Brass sighed. "Well, that was a pointless waste of time," he muttered as they got back to the crime lab. "We barely got anything from them."

"No, we got something. This has been the most progressive interview so far with Luca. He inadvertently lets something lose each time, which is more to go on than before. Have you not questioned Greg yet about what happened?"

"It's on my to-do list but each time I ask he makes an excuse or just plain refuses to talk. His testimony of events to what happened, specifically to death of Alex de Marinez and anything he may have heard of seen in that room is vital. But I can't get him to talk to me and from what I hear, he's not talking to you."

Grissom looked at the ground. From the very beginning, as soon as Greg had woken up in the hospital room, he knew the road to recovery would not be an easy one. And whenever he looked at the younger CSI, it was evident he was hiding something, keeping everything inside. It was the same haunted look that Nick had when he was taken out of that coffin. They locked up everything they wanted to talk about a fast. They just had to wriggle the key to the box of memories a little more.

"We'll get him to talk eventually. I'm going to DNA. There's something more to this. I don't believe an entire family was killed because of a necklace. This revenge means something significant." With that they dispersed and Grissom went down to the DNA lab. "Mia, I need you to do me a favour."

"Sure. I'm not working on anything at the moment. Ecklie must be giving days some pretty petty cases."

"I need you to run a test for me. Pull up Tony Ranciotti's and Luca Lusardo's DNA and compare them to each otherfor me, would you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he left, wandering down the halls again to the break room, seemingly unsurprised to find Sara and Greg in there again. It was evident that they had left earlier and Grissom could only assume it had been Greg's decision. Once more, the nagging feeling of Greg keeping what happened welled up in him again. He entered the once again empty break room and sat down on the other side of the younger CSI, who held a cup of coffee in his hands. Greg barely even acknowledged his presence but remained stationary.

"Greg," Grissom started, uncertain as to why he was feeling awkward. He'd rarely had a meaningful conversation with him. With Nick it had been easy. At first he had been unwilling to talk but Grissom knew that Nick's want for his attention would make him open up eventually. Suddenly, it felt much harder with Greg. "I know you don't want to say anything _just _yet. I will need it eventually but can we try in small doses at the moment. I need to make this case stick and you can help me with a part of that."

Greg nodded. From the very beginning he knew that eventually what had to come out, would come out. He waited for prompts from Grissom. Sara's hand rested gently on his back, still but occasionally moving in a circle.

"When you first spoke to me on the phone, you said that Alex de Marinez was with you in the room so he was alive. Did you _see_ what happened to him afterwards?" Grissom asked quietly.

There was a few moments pause before Greg nodded, staring at his rapidly cooling coffee, preferring that than to have to face Sara or Grissom. "Yeah. I saw him get shot if that's what you mean."

"Did you see Luca Lusardo shoot him?"

Greg nodded again. He lowered his head, the comforting feel of Sara's hand on his back and the understanding from both of them. "Yeah…When he tried to run away."

Grissom smiled in understanding. "Thank you, Greg."

However, saying that statement didn't quell the guilt he was feeling. "It was my fault," he murmured as Grissom stood up to leave. He turned back round, an inquisitive expression once again on his face as he stood by the door. With no prompting, he allowed Greg to continue. "I thought I'd be saving him if I told him to run at that moment so at least he would get out safely. You told me to protect him. And I tried, Grissom, I really did, but it was the wrong moment."

He took a deep breath and looked up and Grissom. "I just wanted to save him. And I may not have pulled the trigger and shot him. But I killed him."

It was one of those moral dilemmas, Grissom knew. Externally, it was evident where the line was drawn. But when you were involved in the event itself, suddenly the line blurs. Suddenly you think of all you could have done—all you could have done differently—and start blaming yourself. In hindsight there were a lot of things one could change if only they had that chance again. Grissom looked down at Greg and realized Greg was learning a lot of these lessons the hard way. They arrived on a scene after the death. There's nothing they could have done to prevent it. Greg didn't know how to take over a situation like that. It was understandable.

"Greg," Grissom said quietly, but sternly. "I want you to stop thinking about it from now on. Because it's _not _your fault. Nothing that happened in there was." And with that, he walked out of the room, barricading himself in his office.

TBC...  
Please read and review. I can see the hit count, don't think I don't know you're out there! It gives an authoress great encouragement to know her story is liked!

**pistonsgirl074**: I think the story is going to take that turn where one part confuses and drops hints and the next one begins to make light of them.

**Dattatreya**: Yes, the Latin words mean exactly that. I'm kind of on a Latin spree at the moment, I thought they sounded quite effective as chapter titles. They're either that or incredibly tacky, lol.

**Boboskiwatin**: Well, oi to you too. Thanks for reviewing.

**Kate Maxwell**: Yes way. And as for the recovery part, he might get there, he might not. I'm still deciding, lol.

**Sillie**: He does blame himself. And as you've probably read, there's even more self blaming!

**Goody**: Thank you again for your review, it's really insightful. Most dialogue/wording I usually just blame on the fact I'm British, lol. It's easier. I was hoping to just take a typical plot and try to make something original out of it!


	4. Ratio Decidendi

Once again apologies for the long time it's taking me to update. I'm glad to see you are enjoying the story.

* * *

Carpe Diem

By HalinaRenata

**Chapter 4: ****Ratio decidendi**

_Four Days Ago_

Grissom and Catherine almost didn't believe Sara when she said the gunmen were still in the house, she'd seen them and they were threatening to shoot Greg if they didn't get off the site of the house immediately. They looked at each other dumbfounded but they knew truthfully Sara wasn't one to lie or exaggerate. Grissom looked up at the house and then back at Sara who seemed slightly unnerved by what she'd seen. Taking a deep breath, he went into action, ordering everybody in and around the house to get back on the road.

"Hey, hey, Gill, what's going on?" Brass cried in outrage, walking up to them from the reporters as the remaining CSIs and police officers along with David walked from the house.

"The gunmen are still in the house."

"You want me to get SWAT?"

"No!" Grissom shouted before he could stop himself, watching as Brass' face turned into one of suspicion. "Greg's still in the house. They have him."

Brass' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Oh, well, that's great. The rookie CSI gets trapped in a house with two psychopathic killers. The media, the public, oh and even the sheriff, are going to _love _this one." He surveyed the area briefly. "Didn't Greg wait for Topps, the officer who was checking the upstairs, to _tell him _it was clear?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe they have him as well." Sighing, Grissom looked back up at the house but was unable to see any activity coming from inside which worried him more. Sara was the only one who had seen what had happened. "We need plans of this house. I want to know what room they're in." Brass nodded and left with the remains of his police force.

As they all dispersed Sara stood on the road looking up at the house. Now everybody was behind the yellow tape. Brass and several police officers could be heard trying to get rid of the reporters and neighbouring onlookers. SWAT and the paramedics would undoubtedly be arriving soon. The high profile case had just become even greater.

"What about Greg?" Sara asked quietly, unable to imagine what was going in the house right now. She tried to quell the feeling of fear as she remembered the scene on the stairs; Greg's terrified voice and the gunmen, one of which seemed to have a very short temper and little control over himself. She, like the rest of them, couldn't imagine what was happening inside. "Grissom, he doesn't even have a gun. He was never trained to use one. He doesn't know how to handle this situation."

Grissom didn't say anything but he knew Sara was right. With the least amount of experience, this was probably the worst thing that could happen to Greg. "Catherine, Warrick, I need you to take all the evidence back to the lab and..."

"You're making us leave and go back to the lab?" Catherine interrupted, incredulous. "While Greg's in there?"

"We need to know who the gunmen are. You can come back, we just...we need something to go on. Preferably who these men might be and why they killed the de Marinez family."

Catherine and Warrick left grudgingly. David stood beside nervously before coming forward. "Is there no way to get to the bodies out back? I mean, maybe it will help a bit…"

"No, Sara said, they wanted everyone off the perimeter. As much as I want those bodies at the morgue I'm not risking Greg or that officer just to transport them. They'll have to wait a while."

Sighing, Grissom moved and stood beside Sara, gazing at the house. It seemed odd, the silence surrounding it. They weren't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Signs of life or any activity from Greg would give them something and positive thinking was the only way forward to motivate them in getting Greg out of the house. Yet at the same time, there was always the possibility of a scream, a cry, the resonance of the feared sound: a gunshot.

Sara sighed, feeling guilty as she crossed her arms. "I didn't even ask if he was okay. I just left." In frustration, she pulled the phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. "I can't just stand here and watch and do nothing."

Grissom put a hand over hers to try and calm her shaking and obvious worry. Inside, he was in turmoil as well but he was the master of composition. He could maintain repose and hide the fear and the worry. "Let me," he said, taking his own phone out of his pocket and searching for Greg's number. As the ringing began to sound in his ears, he could only pray Greg would pick and hear something good down the other end.

* * *

Greg focused on breathing. Keeping his eyes closed and his body still, he counted in his head each breath he took. For a few seconds, there was complete silence except for the sounds of his breathing and the dull thud of his heart hammering. Greg had felt vulnerable from his position on the floor but he did not dare move in case he provoked the gunman. It was at that moment, he realized the severity of the situation.

"Luca!" he heard as the other gunman returned. Luca's gaze immediately left him and turned to his counter part. "What are you doing? Leave that kid alone, you can do what you want later; help me look for this thing upstairs. I think all the cops have moved off."

With the door closed and their voices receeding, only then did Greg feel safe to let his muscle he didn't even realize were tensing relax and his breathing finally slow. He relinquished in stealing himself a few moments of peace and considered what he had gotten himself into and the ways out. His only thoughts were '_what would Grissom do?_' He had always believed Grissom knew the answers to everything and every situation. Yet, Greg didn't know where to start. Should he work out where he was? Try to contact Grissom or Sara outside? Try and escape whilst he could? But escaping meant taking the boy with him and he didn't want to risk his life as well.

Turning round onto his stomach Greg pulled himself up to his knees in front of the child. "Hey," he said quietly, almost a whisper at the terrified child that had pulled himself up against the wall. He couldn't have been more than six. His dark eyes were widened with fear and glistening with unshed tears, visibly looking how Greg felt inside. "It's okay," he tried to assure him in the softest voice he could. "You're gonna be fine. What's your name?" The boy didn't answer, just continued looking at him in a scared fashion, like he was scared of him as well. "Are you Alex?"

This time the boy nodded and gave a little bit more trust by not shying away to the wall.

"Well, Alex, my name's Greg, okay? I work with the police department and I'm going to try and get you out. Do you know who the men are?" Again, he received a shake of the head. Greg wasn't entirely certain what he was trying to get from the young boy. He prayed he wouldn't have to tell Alex that his parents and grandmother had been shot and were now dead. "Well, do you know why they're here?"

"They're looking for something," he answered quietly.

Confused, Greg straightened up and looked around the room. It was fairly sparse. The walls looked as though they had just been painted and a carpet or linoleum had yet to be put down. In the far corner, opposite from the only window there was a desk with computer screens depicting certain areas around the house. Greg rolled his eyes as he realized he'd found de Marinez security system. Getting to his feet now, he walked over to the flashing screens. The house was empty. Occasionally, he could see the two gunmen in a room, rifling through some cupboards. Outside, he saw all the people that were involved in the case lined up on the road as instructed.

"Do you know what?" Greg asked quietly, looking over his shoulder.

"It's shiny," the boy whispered back. Fear crept through his innocent sounding voice and Greg felt a pang of pain in thinking that a child had been caught up in these proceedings. It only added to the burden of pressure. "Who are they?"

"They're--" Greg paused. "I don't know yet."

Just as he was about to turn back to the boy, he heard a ring, which frightened the living daylights of him. Jumping briefly at the sound, his shaking hand immediately dived into his pocket to retrieve the phone before the gunmen could hear it. He didn't even check caller ID before he pressed it to his ear and whispered hurriedly. "Hello?"

"Greg!" he heard the sharp voice at the other end.

"Grissom!" Greg reply of relief sounded more like a sigh. He felt less alone. "I'm so glad you called."

"Are you all right?"

Greg looked around him quickly and swallowed to try and appear brave. "Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine. I've found de Marinez's son, Alex. He's here in the room with me. They must have just taken him from his room or something instead of killing him straight away, I don't know exactly."

"Greg, I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. Now, can you tell me what you know and where you are?"

Greg put his elbows on the table and ran one hand through his hair, doing as instructed. "There's two of them. One of them is called Luca. I didn't catch the other's name or their last names. The boy doesn't know them but they're here looking for something. I don't know what that is either. Err...that's all I know. They've left the room to go and look for it somewhere upstairs again."

"Okay, Greg. Now do you know where you are inside the house?"

Greg stood up and walked towards the window carefully to look out. He guessed he was in an extension part of the house considering the wall of the main building came across, cutting out most of his view of the road and the people on it except for a few sporadic onlookers. "I can't see much. I think I'm in a corner part of the house at the front. There's only one door. I found de Marinez's security system and where he must watch everything that's going on."

He heard Grissom sigh down the other line. "Great. Well if you're stuck in there with them it means they can see whatever we're doing. So any surprise plan we have to get inside the house would be ruined…unless you can disconnect it."

Greg's eyes widened. His professionalism was slipping from his grasp like sad between his fingers. "What! I don't know anything about wires! You have to get to me somehow." He stumbled back to the desk, breathing heavily again; panic overtaking him when he couldn't think of a logical way out of this situation and neither could Grissom. He closed his eyes, ran a hand across his forehead and attempted to slow his heart rate down to a reasonable level but it was failing. "Grissom, you have to get me out of here, please. They might actually shoot me or the kid. They've already killed one of the cops that was clearing the area upstairs, I...I saw his body."

"Greg..."

"One of them is a _manic_, Grissom!" He managed to restrain himself from shouting asto not alert the gunmen or scareAlexalthough the temptation to do so to get his point across was overwhelming.

"Greg!" Grissom shouted, snapping the younger man back to reality and ceasing his panicked rambling. "I'm going to get you out of there, I promise. But I need you to calm down and keep a level head. You must not do anything too rash that will put you in danger, all right? This is not field practise anymore but I know you are capable of making the right decisions." Greg shook his head to himself, not believing in himself. "Hold out and protect yourself and the boy, I'll..."

Greg didn't hear anymore. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was too heavy to belong to the boy. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Grissom calling his name like a faint sound of hope too far away to make a difference. As he turned around slowly, his eyes widened as he saw the shadow of the gunman behind him. "Shit, I...," he started to say.

The phone dropped to the floor with Grissom still calling him and suddenly he was pushed back against the wall facing the gunman, Luca, again. Greg didn't make a single sound, but stared at Luca, the phone loosely in his hand.

"Tony. Take the phone." Behind him, Greg could see Tony pick up his phone, look at it for a brief moment before turning it off and placing it on the table. The hope Greg had in Grissom was shattered. His attention focused back to Luca as he turned to face him again. "You shouldn't have done that, kid. Who were you talking go?"

He was roughly spun around to face the wall, a hand in between his shoulder blades keeping him in places. "My—My boss."

A hand swept down his body and reached his back pocket but didn't go straight in. Greg closed his eyes and tried to fight off the feeling and horrible thought of the gunman enjoying lightly touching him up. A hand remained on his hip momentarily before slipping into his back pocket and slowly pulling out his wallet. Greg pressed his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes. Any second now the moment would be over and he wouldn't feel so vulnerable.

"Gregory Sanders. CSI." Again, he was turned around to face Luca. "You're not a cop."

Greg shook his head, words failing him again. "N-No. I'm a crime scene investigator, forensics. I just collect the evidence, that's all."

Tony came forward and pushed Luca out of the way to step in front of Greg. Before he knew it, a picture was being thrust into his face. "Did you come across this in any of your _collecting_ down there?" Greg looked at it closely. It looked like a chain, a golden necklace to be precise with an intricate design on the thick oval shaped pendant hanging from it. He searched his memory for a few seconds, trying to remember what he saw during his brief time downstairs in the living room.

"No, I haven't seen it. But I'd only just come in and was looking around. I hadn't collected anything. What is it?"

"Something very important," Luca replied vaguely.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Is it worth that much that you had to kill a family and a cop?"

Greg was answered by a fist slamming into his stomach. An involuntary yell of pain escaped from him and he heard Alex whimper slightly in the corner. Greg fell to his knees with his hand clutching his stomach and his body tense to try and fight off the pain. Luca's face only smiled again, only less cruel and twisted as he knelt down in front of Greg and looked at his pained expression. It was one of mirth and seeming loss. "Its value isn't monetary, boy. Besides, I thought you weren't a cop, so stop asking all of the questions."

"That was unnecessary, Luca," Tony remarked pointedly but he made no move to help Greg. He sat by the table in front of the camera, obviously in deep thought. "We have serious shit to think about now if we're gonna get out of here."

Gasping and placing his hands on the floor, Greg waited a few moments for the pain to subside. Then he looked around carefully, his eyes resting on the picture of the necklace again. The two gunmen seemed to be in thought, talking to each other, presumably over what to do and where to find the necklace. He remembered Grissom's words. Do what he had to protect himself and the kid. Alex was still sitting quietly in the corner. "What about if I help you find it? Would you let us go, then?"

Tony turned round and pointed the gun at him lazily. "Just sit down there and shut up, all right? I don't want to hear a sound from you."

Luca smirked. "I wouldn't mind hearing a few sounds from him…possibly in that position as well."

Greg instantly got off his hands and knees and sat against the wall, ignoring how his stomach protested from the sudden action. Looking beside him at Alex, he took into account that the boy was scared but unhurt. He looked up at Greg, as if expecting everything to resolve itself in a few moments.

With nothing to do, he sat and analysed to surpass the dull thud of pain and his fear. Luca, he thought, was absolutely insane. It wouldn't surprise him if the man had a criminal record. He seemed irrational and quick tempered and Greg hated the way he looked at him, in a twisted lustful manner. Tony, on the other hand, seemed more in control, the only person who could hold Luca on a leash. He appeared tired and unwilling to get themselves into a further mess but at the same time had an edge of sharpness to him that Greg didn't want to come across.

A nudge beside him indicated Alex was shifting. As the young boy's head felt onto his arm sleepily, Greg smiled sadly and put his arm around him. "I'm scared," the boy admitted, pressing his face into Greg's forensic jacket.

Greg shuffled further down against the wall so he was eye level with the boy. "I know you're scared. But I told you, it's going to be fine. I do this stuff all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's no sweat." Greg wondered how unconfident his voice sounded to a six year old boy. Alex continued looking at him. "It's all right," Greg whispered, rubbing his shoulder. He could find nothing else to say. No promises. No concrete reassurances. Just that for the moment, "It's all right."

Alex nodded in full understanding and Greg sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and taking a deep breath. The way he saw it, the odds weren't in the gunmen's favour. They had two hostages. One would be disposable. But if he could get Alex out to safety they would only be left with one hostage to leave the building with and therefore wouldn't dare kill him. Greg had never really considered himself courageous before. Anything he thought of right now came straight from action movies. And although he himself didn't want to be left alone with the gunmen, he could hardly risk the life of a six year old boy.

More than ever, he wished he had more of Grissom's advice right now.

* * *

"Greg!" Grissom cried again down the phone when he received no answer. "Greg!" The younger CSI had stopped talking to him. He heard some kind of whispered plea and then an unfamiliar voice, presumably the gunman's. Suddenly the dial tone was in his ear. They had been cut off. Frustrated, Grissom looked back at the house again, praying that Greg wasn't in any serious trouble.

"Grissom?" Sara asked tentatively. "Is he all right?"

"He's scared," was all Grissom said. There was no point in sugar coating the truth but there was no point in worsening the situation they were in. He walked over to Brass who was by one of the cop cars with a large spread of paper in front of him. He looked over at it seeing the outlines of the house in front of him, remembering what Greg had told him a few moments ago.

"So...where are you?" he talked to himself. Greg had said they were at the front of the house but there had been no movement through the windows that they had seen so far in the main central block of the building. Moving past the parked cars and the people, Grissom went to one side of the house that looked like an extension further back from the rest of the building like a wing. A movement in one of the windows confirmed his suspicions and he nodded at it to Brass. "There. That's the room. Greg said that's where de Marinez's security system was."

Brass rolled his eyes. "Great. So we can rule out the element of surprise."

"We've also got two hostages. Greg said Alex de Marinez was there with him. He also said that they'd shot and killed an officer. I'm guessing that was Topps." Grissom looked up and down the street. It was in a fairly quiet neighbourhood. Looking at the house opposite, Grissom squinted at the windows. "How far can a SWAT man shoot to wound someone through to the de Marinez house?"

Brass smiled wryly. "Wouldn't hurt to try, seeing as we have no other options."

* * *

Half an hour must have gone by. Greg was beginning to feel rather tired. His eyes were drooping. After waking up at (for him) a godforsaken hour and running on no sleep, with the addition of having a gun pointed at him and several adrenaline rushes, the stress was beginning to take its toll. Sleep sounded appealing. That way he would be able to escape the reality of what was happening to him right now. His head rested on the hand was propped up by an elbow on his knee. Hardly comfortable but it would suffice.

"Hey!" someone shouted by him. "Stay awake. I'm not carrying you if we're moving."

Greg blinked, adjusting his thoughts. "Moving where? You have a street full of cops and probably SWAT men by now. How far do you think you're going to go?"

He shut his mouth as soon as he saw that Luca was preparing to stand up and possibly strike him again but Tony's hand pulled him back to his original sitting position. As calmly as he could, Tony said "Listen, kid. One way or another we're getting out of here, with or without the bracelet..."

"Tony, you said you'd help fi..."

Standing up, Tony whirled on Luca. "Shut up! It's obviously not here, Luca. If de Marinez was smart, he probably sold it or gave it to some other cheap girl. But we've cleared this house and it's nowhere. We—or at least _I_—have to think about getting out of here." Luca said nothing although it was evident he was unhappy. Tony now turned back to Greg. "And you're going to help us with that."

"You think you're going to walk out of here just because you have me as a hostage? You're going to have to do better than that."

Tony remained stoic. "They will this time."

Greg did not like the implication of this sentence but said no more. Further off, Luca have barely registered what had been said except that the search for the necklace was no longer continuing. Standing up in agitation, he paced for a few moments, Greg watching his every move before he moved towards then and crouched down on Alex's side. Once again the picture of the necklace came out. "Think, kid. Do you ever remember seeing this at all? Do you have any idea where it would be? Think hard." He grabbed Alex's arm and shook him slightly for emphasis.

Alex shook his head, beginning to cry. "I haven't seen it."

"You must have done, you little brat. Think! Did your mom ever wear it? Did you ever see it in a box?"

Alex pressed further into Greg, trying to shy away from the harsh questions. He shook his head again. "I've never seen it. Mommy never wore it and I wasn't allowed to look in her cupboards."

"You must know where it is, think, anywhere! Anywhere! For God's sake, tell me something useful!" Luca's temper suddenly snapped again and lifted his hand up as if to backhand the boy.

Immediately, Greg stood up and grabbed hold of Luca's wrist before it came down, seemingly hard enough to dislocate the young boy's jaw. "Hey, hey!" he shouted, his eyes flaring now and feeling Alex dug on his jeans lightly. "He's six years old. Do you really think he knows where his mom and dad keep all the valuable stuff in the house? No one tells their kids that. Hitting him is not going to help."

Luca pushed Greg's shoulder and slammed him into the wall, coming so perilously close that Greg was trapped between the man's body and the plaster. He winced at his hand was pushed against the wall, hurting the bones. He wanted to turn his head away but kept his eyes on him, willing to cause a scene; enough of a distraction. "Do I look like I was asking you? You wait your turn for something to happen and questions to be asked."

Greg smirked slightly to irk him more, not sure where this new found confidence was coming from, but certain it would end up with some form of injury. "Maybe you should have asked de Marinez where it was before you stupidly blew him away. But I suppose you always act before you think, huh? Bet you're kicking yourself now."

Luca pushed him further into the wall so the back of his head hit the plaster. Greg winced again but kept focused, watching Luca's face cloud with anger. "I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself."

Tony sighed from where he stood by the side of the window, staring out at it tiredly. "Luca, just leave him," he said tiredly, but forcefully.

Greg pushed back. "Maybe you should have just got out whilst you could. They're not going to let you out of here. Not when you have someone part of the police department as a hostage and shot another. And they're not just going to let you go." Greg pushed back harder to give himself some room and antagonize Luca further, which seemed to be working. For a moment, he wondered how sensible this plan was.

"Hey, that's enough now," Tony started to say but was interrupted by Greg swinging his arm and catching Luca in the shoulder sending the man backwards. Now in an uncontrolledrage Luca came forward along with Tony and he suddenly found himself on the ground with Luca on top attempting to hit him and Tony trying to prise them apart. Greg put up his hands to protect himself but he looked up, seeing Alex sitting further away, a look of horror and fear imprinted on the child's face.

"Run. Fast," he whispered, hitting back at Luca again.

The boy evidently hesitated. But from the corner of his eye, Greg thankfully saw Alex getting to his feet and start running as Luca delivered another blow to the side of his head that almost rendered him unconscious. The world swam dangerous in front of Greg's eyes for a second and moved spastically but he tried to shake his head and roll onto his side when he realized the weight of the two gunmen was no longer on him. He heard footsteps and then a cry of alarm coming from one of them. As he looked up, his eyes widened in horror when saw Luca aiming the gun in the direction of the open door where Alex had just run.

"No, stop," he cried, getting to his knees to try and distract him again, despite the excruciating pain in his head. Hopefully, he could knock Luca to the ground again and either stop him from shooting or make him miss. So long as the boy reached the end of the corridor round the corner, he was safe.

But he was too late. Just as he, stumbling, reached Luca there was a sharp sound. The silencer made the shot from the gun sound like a mere loud clap in an empty room. But it was enough. Greg watched horrified as the boy, who had almost made it round the corner gave a small cry and dropped to the ground with a yell. He gave no sound after that and for a moment there was silence.

Greg chocked, unable to take his eyes off the boy. He lay there unmoving, not even crying. The bullet had obviously hit him fatally. Greg slumped down on his knees and put his palms to the ground, feeling the tears come to his eyes instantly. He felt sticky blood drip down the side of his face and splash on the wooden floor like a teardrop. He was dead. Alex was dead. Luca had shot him because he'd listened to Greg and run. All around Greg the world seemed to stop still; his hearing muffled, his eyes blurred and his head fuzzy with incomprehension.

"What the _fuck _did you do that for?" he faintly heard Tony cry, whirling round on Luca in a rage. "How many people are we trying to kill?"

"_We _have killed two," Luca spat. "Eddie was responsible for the rest. Besides, that boy should never have been born. And we were gonna get nothing out of him." He looked down at Greg, whose eyes were still transfixed by the sight of Alex de Marinez further down the corridor. "Besides, the whole police department will want him back. A cop is more useful than some kid. They won't risk his life. He's _far _more useful."

* * *

TBC...

Thank you so much to:

**Ayod** (I think you are right. Thankfully I wasn't trying to hide what happened) **remoob1513**, **Rezuri**, **Joelle4**, **Zelrika**, **Guardian6**, **Halacanno**, **cheggly**, **Joralie**, **lj**, **Sillie**

Your reviews were very encouraging XD


End file.
